Acca

by Christina Bauer

  A man’s basso voice echoes through the chamber. The tone is familiar. It’s Marty, the Pulpitum operator who helped us before. “Identity confirmed,” says Marty. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. And greetings, Great Scala. I must say I’m amazed. We all thought you were both in Heaven under sanctuary. No one’s been able to contact you.”

  I scrunch up my face, debating how much to share with him. “Not much” is probably the best way to go here. “We’re back now, Marty. We can’t discuss details, though. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course, Great Scala.”

  “We’ll need transport to the Courthouse Pulpitum,” says Lincoln.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Are you ready for the countdown?”

  “Not yet. First, we need three cleanup crews sent to the Wheeler Institute. Red level urgency. My private patrols only. Once they arrive, they’re to find a protector named Jeeves. He’ll give them instructions.”

  “Yes, I’ll relay the command immediately.”

  “And Marty?” asks Lincoln. “Acca is not welcome to join them.”

  “But your father ordered—”

  “Absolutely not. No members from the House of Acca are to be on that cleanup crew. The King can approach me directly if he has any questions.”

  “Acca will put up a fight,” warns Marty.

  “My personal patrols can handle it.” Lincoln takes my hand. Together, we step onto the center of the metal disc. After that, we get into position by standing face-to-face. Lincoln wraps his solid arms around my waist. Something deep inside my soul quiets.

  My guy’s voice sounds gently in my ear. “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Marty, send us to the Courthouse Pulpitum on my mark. Three, two, one.”

  A long pause follows. Both Lincoln and I stiffen. Normally, the Pulpitum would have taken off right away.

  “Marty?” I ask. “Are you all right?”

  More seconds tick by before Marty’s low voice booms through the deserted barn. “My apologies. We’ve had some issues with demonic alarms. One just went off and shut down the Pulpitum. I’ll have you ready in a moment.”

  Lincoln and I share a puzzled look. Recently, we had some serious issues with the Pulpitum being misused by Acca. In fact, it was a key factor in how Lady Adair was able to cause so much trouble. For obvious reasons, the thrax don’t have any Pulpitums that run to Hell. Lady Adair was still able to sneak her possessed ass around on them, though, thanks to her Acca buddies who were working at Transfer Central. After the problems were discovered, we’d been clearing out Acca personnel from manning the Pulpitums. It hasn’t been easy.

  A fissure of unease winds through me. Is Acca planning something with the Pulpitum again?

  Stay calm, Myla. The Pulpitums are fine.

  Lincoln slowly rubs his chin, his eyes lost in thought. “Why the demon alarms?”

  “The guests are already arriving for your wedding, including demonic diplomats. We tried to adjust the Pulpitums to allow them to enter, but the alarms still go off.”

  Marty’s explanation sounds fine. Even so, something about it doesn’t feel right. “Who was entering just now?”

  “Demonic delegation from Purgatory.” A rustling of paper sounds as Marty checks records. “The Acheron?”

  Lincoln looks at me questioningly. I know what he’s thinking even if he doesn’t voice his concerns. You’ve heard of them?

  I nod. “They’re a family of wrath demons who were exiled when Armageddon took over Hell. They’ve been big supporters of my mother’s.”

  “One moment. I need to reset my console.” Another tense minute passes before Marty lets out a long sigh of relief. “Ah, now everything’s working again. Transferring you to the Courthouse station in three, two—”

  “Wait a moment,” says Lincoln.

  “Your Highness?”

  “I’d asked that all Acca personnel be removed from Pulpitum duty. I have the sneaking suspicion that hasn’t happened. Is this the case?”

  Marty clears his throat. “Yes, you certainly asked for their removal.” The way his voice sounds is nothing less than über-guilty. “I’ll resume the transfer in three—”

  “Not so fast.” I stare up at the ceiling where I know the vid cameras are hidden. “Lincoln asked if his orders were followed.”

  “About Acca?” Marty’s words come out as a squeak.

  “Yup. Spill it, dude.”

  “No, the King himself overrode those orders. We still have representatives from the House of Acca doing regular shifts for operating the Pulpitums.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “They’re here right now.”

  Lincoln starts holding me so tight it’s getting hard to breathe. I loop my arms around his neck. “We’ll take care of the Pulpitums soon.” I make sure to say that loud enough for Marty to hear. “We have to finish at the courthouse first, right? Once we take care of Aldred, everything else will fall into place.” I make sure Marty hears that part, too. The sooner everyone stops fearing Aldred, the better.

  Lincoln nods slowly. This bums him out. I can tell.

  My heart goes out to Lincoln. This happens time and again. Lincoln gives an order, and Connor could give a crap about whatever Lincoln decrees…Unless it has to do with Acca.

  Lincoln stares at the ceiling. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You’re right.”

  “Hey, I’m always right.”

  A smile rounds Lincoln’s mouth. “We’re ready to go, Marty. Initiating Pulpitum transfer in three, two, one.”

  With a jolt, the platform speeds into the earth. Normally, I enjoy watching the streaks of rock, water, and magma fly by as we hurtle toward our destination. This time, though? The ride is anything but pleasant. All I can think about is getting this codex to the courthouse before it’s too late.

  Even worse, my inner wrath demon is going berserk. It senses danger from Acca, and that sense is never wrong.

  I only hope we arrive in time to stop whatever they have planned next.

  24

  The Pulpitum slams to a halt. Lincoln and I now stand at the end of a long black corridor. I pat the backpack behind me. The codex and Lucifer’s coin are still safe inside. I exhale a shaky breath. At last, we’ve arrived in Antrum with the evidence we so desperately need. At this point, all that remains is getting to the courtroom.

  Lincoln and I step off the Pulpitum and into the darkened corridor. Rustling noises echo from the shadows. We pause.

  My tail arches over my shoulder, ready for battle. “Who’s there?” I wouldn’t put it past Acca to leave soldiers in here, just in case Lincoln and I returned in time. Warrior energy streams through my muscles, preparing me to fight.

  Lincoln ignites his baculum into a torch. The flickering light reveals the outline of two familiar figures seated in the darkness. I grin.

  It’s Walker and Cissy.

  My shoulders slump with relief. Walker is my honorary ghoul brother, and Cissy is my best friend. It’s beyond awesome to see them.

  Cissy stands and bobs a bit on the balls of her feet. The movement makes her blonde ringlets bounce. Today she wears the purple robes of her office as a Diplomatic Senator. “They’re here!” She leans over to pull Walker to his feet. “Wake up.”

  My brows lift. As a ghoul, Walker needs almost no rest at all. For him to have zonked out—and be so deeply asleep that he didn’t hear us arrive—something big must have gone down.

  Walker slowly rises. His tall stature and death-white skin are classic to all ghouls. The sharp lines of his face soften as he focuses on Lincoln and me. “At last. I came here when I got news of your sanctuary. I knew you’d return, and when you did, that this would be your first stop.”

  “I’ve been coming and going,” offers Cissy. “But Walker’s been here the entire time.”

  My throat tightens. No wonder Walker dozed off. He’s been waiting for us at the Pulpitum non-stop. Note to self: make Walker one of the cough syrup cocktails he loves later.

>   A tense moment follows. There are no tearful hellos or long explanations. We all know what’s at stake. If Aldred isn’t put behind bars, Lincoln and I could end up in the dungeon.

  “I know the fastest way to the courtroom.” Walker races off into the darkness, making his long black robes billow with the movement. Lincoln, Cissy, and I try to keep pace. For a ghoul, Walker can really haul ass.

  “I’m so relieved you made it!” Cissy positively beams. “How was sanctuary in Heaven?”

  “It was…Fine?”

  Cissy’s big blue eyes narrow. “You’re a crap liar, Myla. I want details and I want them now. I’ve been waiting here too, you know.” Like all quasi-demons, Cissy has a power aligned to one of the seven deadly sins as well as a tail to match. Her sin is envy, and her backside is of the golden retriever variety. At this point, Cissy’s tail is wagging furiously, which means she’s super-excited. Envy demons covet gossip of all kinds, and Cissy wants to be the first to know what happened.

  Eh. She can live with waiting.

  “You’ll get plenty of information shortly.”

  “But, Myla—”

  “Trust me, Cis. Not now. I need to focus on the courtroom.”

  “Of course. You’re getting your game face on.” Cissy winks in my direction, which is a surprise. The girl I knew six months ago would have had an envy-inspired hissy fit. But becoming a Senator has shown Cissy what’s really important. These days, she drops the envy crap a lot more easily.

  “What happened while we were gone?” asks Lincoln.

  “Aldred has been grandstanding all week,” answers Walker. “He insists that you’re hiding out in Heaven because you’ve no real evidence against him. He’s even started a major referendum on where to imprison you.”

  “Of course,” says Lincoln. “And the investigation into Cryptan’s death?”

  Walker shakes his head. “We never put any tracking systems in the Vault. Why would we? People hardly went in there.” Walker’s an engineering genius. He’s done a ton of work in Purgatory and some projects in Antrum, too. So if there were recording thingies in the Vault, he would know. “Unfortunately, we’ve no proof who came and went that day.”

  “Aren’t there any spells you can use?” I ask.

  Walker frowns. “We’ve tried. There are many magical blocks in place. I’m not sure we’ll ever see the truth of the thing. At this point, we’ve only Aldred’s lies.”

  “And what of my people?” asks Lincoln. “Do they believe this subterfuge?”

  “I’m afraid everyone believes Aldred. Or, at least, they say they do.”

  I stifle a groan. “Aldred and his blackmailing.”

  “That,” sighs Walker, “and I’m afraid the thrax still have some issues with the demonic side of your heritage. Long story short, everyone says they believe Myla killed Cryptan and you’re both trying—unsuccessfully—to frame Aldred. I’m sorry, brother.”

  My heart sinks. Everyone thinks Lincoln’s a liar and I’m a murderer? Nasty.

  “Don’t worry,” offers Cissy. “I’ve already submitted an injunction. They can’t imprison you, Myla. You’re a citizen of Purgatory until you’re…You know.”

  Married. Which isn’t too comforting. Not that I’m telling Cissy that. She’s just trying to help.

  At last, our little group turns down a new passageway. This one’s brightly lit with torches. A set of black doors towers at the far end of the corridor. My breath catches.

  That’s the courtroom entrance.

  I’ve never been inside this place before, but I’ve heard enough about it to know what to expect. Two guards in silver armor stand at the end of the hallway, one on either side of the doors. The Acca crest is embossed onto their breastplates.

  My back teeth lock with frustration. Acca’s on duty. Of course.

  Like the Vault and Cryptan, the thrax Houses take turns guarding the courtroom as well. The fact that Acca has duty today? Totes sketchy. Still, at least it’s only two warriors. Could be worse.

  As we approach, the Acca dickheads move to block the entrance. The guard on the right is the first one to speak. “The courtroom is closed.”

  Cissy sets her fists on her hips. “As Diplomatic Senator from Purgatory to Antrum, I’m supposed to be here.”

  The guard’s helm angles toward Lincoln and me. “No one gets in with them.” The way the guard says the word “them,” it’s like we’re the plague.

  Glancing over to Lincoln, I bob my brows and eye the door hungrily. Can we take them down?

  Lincoln rubs his hand along his strong jawline.

  Huh. He’s actually considering it. Usually, Lincoln’s big on giving people a chance to do the right thing, while I’m more of a “kill first and ask questions later” kind of girl.

  “You get one chance, men.” Lincoln raises his hand. “Walker, crown.”

  I purse my lips. If Lincoln is asking for his crown, things are about to get ugly. He only uses his signs of office when he wants to emphasize authority…And kick some butt. My tail flicks behind me in an anxious rhythm. I wish we could just battle our way inside, but this isn’t my realm, and I’m trying to be mature here.

  “Trying” being the operative word in that sentence.

  Walker reaches into the folds of his robes, pulls out a small circlet of silver, and tosses it to Lincoln. My guy catches his crown, seemingly without looking, and sets it perfectly atop his head. “I ask you once, as your Prince and future King.” Lincoln’s voice lowers. “The doors. Open them.”

  In reply, the guards pull their long swords from their scabbards. The blades gleam in the firelight.

  I catch Lincoln’s gaze again. Pure, cool rage lights in his mismatched eyes. He says seven words, and with that, we’re off. “I’ve got the guard on the left.”

  I grin. “Right.”

  After leaping up into the air, I double-kick the right-hand guard. My boots land flush against his visor. The guy’s helm topples to the ground with a satisfying clang. Next, my tail winds about the guard’s throat while I bend over at the waist. With a burst of supernatural force, my tail hauls the guard over the fulcrum of my back. The Acca dickwad goes flying down the hallway while letting out a sweet chorus of “ow” noises.

  Nice.

  Meanwhile, Lincoln ignites his baculum as two short swords. The guard raises his long sword and goes in for a death blow.

  Lincoln shakes his head. “We don’t have time to parry, my friend.”

  With fluid swipes, my guy slices across the left guard in a crisscross movement. A long moment follows while the guard stands frozen in place. After that, he tumbles to the ground in four neat pieces. For the record, I’m counting the bottom half of his legs twice.

  I can’t help but smile. That was easy.

  Time to go in and finish this.

  Reaching forward, I yank on the golden handle. “Locked.” I roll my eyes.

  Like this will really stop us.

  Lincoln purses his lips. That’s his “I’ve had just about enough of this” face. “Let’s get in there.”

  Moving in unison, Lincoln and I stand before the door and execute a front kick, putting all our weight behind it. The entrance splinters as the doors burst open.

  Inside, the courtroom is a massive space that’s more cave than anything else. The walls are grey stone striped with white sediment. Iron braziers hang on chains from the ceiling. Long wooden benches line the floor. My forehead creases with surprise.

  The place is almost empty. Huh.

  You’d think if their high prince was about to be slapped in prison, there would be more folks around.

  Oh, well. No reason to stand about.

  Lincoln and I march forward down the center aisle. Across the huge cave, a small group of thrax sits on benches by the far wall, right before a raised platform. A huge stone throne-like chair sits upon that stage. In it sits a statuesque woman in flowing white robes.

  The Arbiter.

  My pulse quickens. I’ve heard abou
t this woman. She’s another protector like Cryptan. In other words, she’s enchanted to sit in that chair forever and act as the one and only judge for all things thrax. However, unlike Cryptan, her courtroom gets a lot more traffic, so she’s not so isolated and twitchy. The Arbiter is as white as a statue, including her hair, skin, eyes, everything. It definitely contributes to whole otherworldly air she’s working.

  As we approach the far side of the chamber, the room becomes silent. The front benches are filled with thrax in their medieval finery. The men wear chainmail shirts under their tunics, the emblems of their houses are emblazoned on their chests. The women wear long gowns in house colors.

  I quickly scan the faces, my pulse speeding faster with every passing second. On the left-hand side of the chamber is everyone that I would consider to be on Team Lincoln and Myla: our parents along with Lucas, the Earl of Striga.

  Not a lot of people on the left-hand side of the room, actually.

  On the right half of the chamber, there’s Aldred and just about every other Earl in Antrum. Based on the scent of ripe adult hanging in the air, they’ve been in attendance all day, waiting to see if we’d show. Team Aldred has the other major Houses represented as well, namely Kamal and Horus. I’d expect that. But a ton of leaders from minor houses are here too. Even the Countess of Gurith is sitting with the enemy. Ouch.

  No doubt Aldred pulled in every blackmail card in the deck to get everyone here as witnesses to the final failure of Lincoln and me. Creep.

  We march closer to the judge, our footsteps echoing through the huge stone space. The attendees stare at us silently. Our families look super-happy. Everyone else? Not so much.

  Lincoln and I pause before the raised platform. I have to crane my neck to look up at the Arbiter. Her all-white eyes soak us in. If she’s surprised that we’ve shown up at the last second, she doesn’t show it. “Who approaches the court?”

  “Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus, High Prince of the House of Rixa.”

  I give her a little wave. “Hi, there. I’m Myla Lewis, the Great Scala.”

  From the benches to the right, Aldred hops to his feet. His almost-bald head is beaded with sweat. “Where are my guards?”